using my own wings

Yesterday I took advantage of the sunny spring day and packed up some lunches and met my dear friend and her kids at a nearby park. The kids climbed the super cool, massive spider web structures for a while (pics to come) and then we found a picnic table near the small lake to partake of our lunch. (Hello day three of hard boiled Easter eggs.) Aside from the intrusive, boundary-less geese that slowly invaded our circle of trust, it was a beautiful day.  When we made our way down to the lake shore to play at the water's edge, the flock of seagulls that congregated in the center of the lake were busy conversing, guarding territorial limits, and basically arguing like toddlers. Their brilliant white feathered bodies were beautiful against the deep emerald of the water. Imagine hundreds of them floating together, linked as one. And then something, perhaps a Nervous Nelly, spooked them to flight and they rose like a swarm of bees to cover the sky. It was really quite amazing to witness.

With the first thought to aim my camera into the sky, I immediately heard a million little voices:  
You don't have the right lens silly. They'll be dots against a bald sky. You don't have time to expose for the bright sun. You can't capture what you envision in your head. Don't even try.

A lot of silly, noisy little birds in my head--conversing, guarding limits, arguing like toddlers.

And then I dismissed them all and aimed my camera up into the sun.